Showing posts with label Murder Inc.. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Murder Inc.. Show all posts

Monday, December 8, 2008

Blame It On Brownsville


“He was vicious as a Gestapo agent, as casually cold-blooded as a meat-grinding machine in a butcher shop”

- Brooklyn Prosecutor Burton B. Turkus

Harry Strauss, aka ‘Pittsburgh Phil’ aka 'Pep', was only thirty-three years old when he was walked down the hall to face his end in the electric chair at Sing Sing Prison. June 21, 1941 was the day Strauss exhaled for the last time. His execution also marked the passing of probably the most vicious and violent period in Jewish Gangster history.

A shift had seemed to occur in some Jewish criminal behavior with the onset of the Great Depression. With certain character traits leading down in darker and more violent places, the sociopath ante was raised by a few degrees. While no street gangster was a saint by any means, a certain sense of social responsibility to their community seemed to have guided the likes of Big Jack Zelig and Dopey Benny Fein from time to time, and gave thought that a heart did lay underneath the tough exterior and street wise antics.
Perhaps the surroundings in which they were raised had something to do with it. The Lower East Side still echoed much of the daily struggles of its population and therefore bestowed early leaders with a sense of pride in the protection they provided to the street.

However, across the East River in the tough section of Brooklyn called Brownsville, where many Jewish families settled after escaping the narrow streets of lower Manhattan, a meaner, more selfish Jewish thug had emerged.
Some were first or second generation American born.
Some were mere toddlers when The Herman Rosenthal affair had made headlines and threw the Jewish community into a social dilemma.
Some were barely educated.
And some grew to be some of the most brutal hit-men on record.

The Brownsville troop earned top spot by killing other Jews who were led by three brothers named Shapiro. There were no ethnic allegiances in Brownsville – just territory and dollars. A three-headed beast named Abe Reles, Meyer Goldstein and Harry Strauss led this violent and victorious troop of new soldiers for almost a decade during the dirty ‘30s. Of the three, Strauss, was known in certain circles as ‘a piece of work’.

Strauss was an intimidating figure in his camp as his hulking figure towered over most around him who only hovered in at the 5’ 5” zone even with lifts in their shoes. His background leading up to his days at Midnight Roses’ remain as mysterious and his sobriquet is misleading.
Pittsburgh Phil had apparently never been to Pittsburgh.
But Pittsburgh Phil loved his work.
Reports like to claim that Strauss had taken over 500 'contracts' willfully during the heydays of ‘The Combination’, dubbed ‘Murder Inc.' by the press. That unbelievable figure was probably exaggerated by the nation wide media frenzy that ensued once the boys from Brownsville were in court during the second half of 1940 and their dirty laundry displayed.

It seemed however that the actual act of killing didn't bother him at all, and he approached the ordeal in the same casual manner as a butcher hits a fresh side of flank. Without being tied down by family responsibilities like many others in the gang, Strauss criss-crossed America on assignments like a salesman with suitcase full of ice picks and rope. Apparently only one contract failed in the hands of Strauss while on duty in Florida.
Following his victim into a movie theatre, with plans to do him in with the theatre's handy fire axe, his target kept changing seats so often during the film that Harry quit out of disgust and frustration. Most others however were not so lucky; like poor Walter Sage, who was ice picked over thirty-six times, tied to a pinball machine, and dunked into Loch Sheldrake Lake in the Catskill Mountains.
It was however the murder of Irving ‘Puggy’ Feinstein that would prove his undoing when Abe Reles decided to sing to the Brooklyn D.A.
Under the orders of Albert Anastasia relayed by Louis 'Lepke' Buchalter, Strauss, along with Goldstein, tied up Feinstein in Reles’ kitchen while his mother-in-law was asleep in the next room. The rope was fastened and tied in a manner that any struggling would tightened the rope around his neck, eventually strangling its victim. Feinstein’s body was then dumped in a vacant lot and set on fire.
Any possible grace of the old world order in the days of the Eastmans, Zelig, and Fein, was definitely gone.

Harry Stauss was arrested, along with Buggsy Goldstein for the murder of Puggy Feinstein after Reles said a mouthful to the D.A.’s.
Without much to build up a defense on and little hope in beating the trip to the chair, Strauss decided to play the ‘nut card’ during his time leading up to the trial. He stopped shaving and grew out his hair. His ulcer acted up as well and he requested milk on a regular basis. In court he conceded to pleading insanity, playing out the role with courtroom antics such as chewing on his lawyer's briefcase continuously until the prosecutor ordered him to stop and also sent him to a barbers chair before further proceedings. In desperation, Strauss offered to turn state’s evidence in exchange for five minutes in a room with Abe Reles (long enough to cut his throat one could only assume). The authorities didn’t buy it, and neither did the jury buy his instability plea. Strauss, who was tried alongside Goldstein, was found guilty and sent up to Sing Sing to meet his fate. Despite his success as Murder Inc.’s top torpedo, Strauss died penniless, having spent his entire wealth on legal fees and a bounty for Reles's head.

Tuesday, November 11, 2008

Half Hour At The Half Moon

November 11, 1941

At about eleven PM, Rose Reles closed the door behind her as she left room 623 of The Half Mood Hotel, located on the Boardwalk at West 29th Street, Coney Island, Brooklyn, New York.
Her eyes, circled dark and discolored from the stress of the last year, were rimmed in red with tears. She shuffled past policemen on duty at the end of the corridor as she buttoned the top of her dark coat and prepared to brace herself for the late autumn chill and cold breeze blowing in off the Atlantic Ocean, which seemed somewhat larger and particularly menacing this evening. Six floors below, as she exited the hotel preparing to return home to Brownsville, she looked up at the Half Moon one more time and wondered: “How could I ever have married such animal…? ”

Back up in room 623, Abe Reles simmered with anger and spittle still gathered in the corners of his mouth from the last forty-five minutes of arguing with his wife. Rose had asked for a divorce.
“A fuckin’ divorce!” he yelled to no one in particular and everyone.

Outside of a few visits to the hospital, court and testimonial appearances, and a trip out to Los Angeles with Allie Tannenbaum, he had been in this damn hotel and the occupant of room 623 for almost a year. The reason he was here in the first place was because of Rose and the kids. He also wanted to protect Pretty Levine.

He was good looking kid, confused is all, and shouldn’t be part of this “life” he told himself.
“So I turned on my friends, went stoolie, entertained DA William O'Dwyer with pages and pages of confessional mumbo jumbo. All the news that’s fit to print, like that fancy New York Times paper likes to say. Now she wants out? No way, not after all this…they’re all I have left”

Allie and Sholem Bernstein were down the hall, in the same squeeze he was, doing the same time, singing the same song. Tick Tock and Sholem were playing cards. Again.
Not tonight thought Reles.
“I’m just gonna lie down for while and listen to the radio...”

Abe Reles sprawled on his back as bedsprings of the single bed squealed and creaked underneath him. He threw his disproportionately long right arm over his eyes and thoughts begun to tumble in circles; about how he found himself in this room, and what he had done to his pals since he made his decision to turn rat while sitting in that “stinking awful Tombs prison” back in March of 1940.

“ They would of done the same…”
thought Reles.

“What was I suppose to do? The DA had me backed into a corner; my nuts were in a vice and it just got tighter. Rose got so delirious and hysterical on me; and she was pregnant with another kid. I was only 33, still a lot of time to restart a new life, somethi
ng legit – even that lunch counter was starting to do OK and turn a little profit. I gotta good memory as I kept them DA secretaries busy night and day filling up notebooks and documents with details on various hits and missing bodies. I knew enough legal jargon with all the time I’ve spent in the court and in the clink – corroboration – that’s all you need.”

“Lookit Gangy *..., that crazy son of a bitch scrammed to Hollywood, he knew this was no life. It’s exhausting being tough guy twenty-four hours a day; being the boss; dealing with nutjobs like Pittsburgh Phil.”*
“Heh, I heard the hothead wasn’t too happy about my squealing, and some cop down the hall whispered to me that he’d spent all his money on legal fees and to put up a bounty on my head. I still can’t believe he grew a beard and stopped cutting his hair to convince folks he was ‘crazy ‘ and ‘unfit’ for trial. Well, he was right about the crazy part. Hard to believe they already cooked him at Sing Sing back in June…the same day as Meyer*

“Ah Buggsy, when we were kids nothing could stop us. We flipped the bird to the eighth grade and never looked back. When we had trouble with Shapiro brothers, we really took ‘em to the mattress huh? Those Amberg brothers got a lesson as well. Thanks to you we linked up with the wops in Ocean Hill and then Lepke and downtown Manhattan came knocking at our door thanks in part to Louis* and Albert A.**”
“There was a time I would of done anything for Lep, but we gotta look out for ourselves. He was the big man, we were loyal, and the money rolled in. He was always amused at your insistence that Edward G. Robinson stole all his movie mannerisms and talking out of the side of the mouth from you. Kids in the neighborhood always thought you were he as well. You always said: “He’s a kike like us and all he plays is wops in the pictures. That ain’t right!”

“I’m sorry pal that I ratted you out.”

“It wasn’t easy for Blue Jaw* either when he took the stand against you. He told me after that you had tears in your eyes, but he couldn't tell if it was from rage or sadness”


“What can I, or Allie, or Bluejaw; Sholem; Pretty; and others say that would make it any better? We jumped ship like rats to save our own skins. We had no choice. They even nabbed Oscar The Poet*. Cripes, that guy was just a driver and dumb as a bag of nails”

“And they got everybody rounded up: Mendy*, Charlie The Bug *, Louis Capone, the Dasher, Happy, - a regular Brooklyn sweep up. Midnight Rose’s must be awfully quiet these days…”
“But we are prisoners too, just in different kinds of prison. I know how many wanna see me dead! Sliced, diced, and served for lunch on Lansky’s desk.”


“I ain’t seen my kids in over a year. I’m fat, unhealthy, and bored.”

“I play pranks on these cops guarding me just to keep amused. They are complaining I smell and should shower. Fuck ‘em”

“And it ain’t over. Next up I gotta testify against Albert A and boy, that’s gonna be a doozy…”


Abe Reles then turned on side, flatuated and feel asleep.

Just a little after 7 AM, a policemen poked his head in to check on Reles and saw he was asleep, a light snore rising from beneath the sheets. The cop then wrinkled his nose at the smell emanating from the small hotel room and closed the door again.

A short time later, with early morning light pouring through the window on an overcast day, Reles, in a slumbered haze, half-heard a distinct click as the doorknob turned left and the door opened. He could barely make out the shape before him through half closed eyes…

Sixty-seven years ago at around 8AM on the morning of November 12, Abe Reles lay dead forty feet, five stories, below his hotel window. Knotted bed sheets hung from the window connected to a wire that was tied to the inside radiator. The bed sheets stopped at about halfway the length of the fall. He was fully dressed. His back was broken in two places and vital organs ruptured. His face was cut from the impact of hitting the pebbly roof that extended out from the hotel’s second floor. His body was over twenty feet from the wall. It was surmised later by investigators that he landed butt first and bounced forward like a 150lb ball in a cheap suit.

On the sixth floor of the Half Moon, six policemen were on ‘duty’ when word got out.
“What happened?”
asked one arriving for the morning shift.
“Abe Reles went out the window”


William O'Dwyer got a phone call at his office. He slammed the phone down, put his head in his hands, and proceeded to rub his temples.
Allie Tannenbaum, a few doors down from room 623, couldn’t keep his hands from shaking.

In Los Angeles, Benjamin Siegel was still in his silk housecoat and slippers trying to focus on that morning’s Los Angeles Times when a phone call came in from the east coast. Minutes later, he hung up the receiver in his study, smirked to himself, and reached for a Cuban cigar.

* Irving 'Gangy" Cohen
* Harry Strauss
* Meyer "Buggsy' Goldstein
* Seymour 'Bluejaw' Magoon
* Oscar 'The Poet' Freidman
* Emmanuel 'Mendy' Weiss
* Charles 'The Bug' Workman
* Louis Capone
** Albert Anastasia